


Howl at the Moon

by princen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon!Dean, M/M, Set right after 9x23, spoilers for 9x23
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 06:11:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1677689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princen/pseuds/princen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean just wanted it to be over. It was the one good thing that could come from taking on the Mark of Cain. But fate is a cruel mistress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Howl at the Moon

He could hear his brother’s cries as he felt consciousness leave him. He wasn't scared this time, like he was when the hellhounds came for him. This was the right thing, the only good thing that could have happened ever since he received the Mark. Even as he was embracing his fate, he could still feel the white hot ache that pulsed from the symbol on his arm. He waited for death. He waited for the vile stench of hell, for the gates of Heaven….but he saw nothing. And he could still hear his brother. 

Dean thought for sure this was part of his hell—having to listen to Sammy mourn him. He couldn't move, couldn't speak or open his eyes. But he could feel the tears that soaked his shoulder where Sam rested his head; he could feel the cool cloth that cleaned the blood from his face. Sam’s voice started to fade farther away at some point and then it hit him hard and fast. 

It felt like his skull was splitting open. He couldn't see but the way his insides roiled it felt like the room was spinning, so fast the momentum was pushing against his body in a painful way. He wanted to scream, he wanted to hold onto Sam, as he was barely aware of the hands still holding onto him as his body was dragged. This was a new torture of hell, he was sure of it; the pain, the awareness of his brother, and not being able to stop any of it. Then the Mark throbbed again, ever demanding, and that’s when Dean knew something was wrong. 

It wasn't until he heard Crowley’s voice drift in somewhere between the pain and pressure and spinning that he really knew. He heard bits and pieces but as Crowley spoke, the spinning slowed, the pressure on his body eased. The pain subsided in a second and it left him disoriented. It felt like he was falling. He wanted to scream again. And then he was caught in what felt like a warm net that surrounded his body. It felt like power. It was loud at first, then it dulled to background noise, a low hum. He felt sore.

“Open your eyes, Dean.” _Impossible, I’m dead._  
“See what I see. Feel what I feel.” _It hurts._  
“Let’s go take a howl at that moon.”

Confused and dizzy, Dean opened his eyes. The first thing he noticed was a heightened awareness. Memories flooded his mind from the short while he had been a vampire. He mentally shook those memories aside, it wasn't quite the same. He meant to sit up slowly but he ended up snapping straight up. Looking down, he saw the blade in his hand. He threw it away from himself in shock.

“No.” Dean’s eyes locked onto Crowley’s form, looming over the bed. “What the hell…” He started, but he had too many questions and his head started to pound. He was in his room. It felt so real, but he died didn't he? “I thought I was done! I was out!”

Crowley only conveyed amusement on his smug face. “How do you feel, Dean?” he asked in a very curious tone.

“Like death.” He looked himself over. His cuts and bruises were all there, and so was the stab wound. He pressed it and felt all the way into his body, but he felt nothing. Dean shot a panicked look at Crowley. “How am I not dead? What the hell is happening, Crowley?”

“I take it you didn't listen too closely to my little speech.”

“You mean your bedtime story about Cain? Yeah, I got that, what the hell does it mean?” Dean moved to get up, but everything was going too fast, he was going too fast. He should have been in pain, bleeding profusely even judging by the hole still in this chest. Everything about this was all wrong.

“Well, you can do away with those nasty cuts, for starters. As much as I enjoy seeing you look like a corpse, I’m sure Sam won’t.”

“You’re not making any sense. How am I alive, you son of a bitch?” Dean marched into the bathroom across the hall. He peered into the mirror at the hole in his chest, then up his neck and jaw at the cuts in his face—

“Personally, I think your green eyes suit you best.” Crowley leaned against the door frame, staring at Dean who was frozen in front of the mirror. 

_No. No, it’s a trick. It’s an illusion. This is hell after all. It feels like home but it can’t be real. Cain killed himself with the Blade. But Cain is still alive. Cain is a demon. I died. I’m_ — “No.”

“A little slow today, are we?” Crowley watched Dean touch his reflection, then blink ten or twenty times, each time re-opening to reveal the same wide, inky-black gaze. “Congratulations, Dean, you've been knighted.” 

Dean spun on his heel and launched himself at Crowley. Holding the man with one hand around his throat, Dean was able to pick him up and hold him against the wall. The hum of power that had dulled before flared. It felt like fire in his veins. “You tell me what the hell is going on, Crowley. What did you do to me?”

The King of Hell, slightly purple in his face, sputtered, “It…the Mark, Dean. I told you! It was a rumor, I didn't know for sure it would happen. It didn't let you go.” 

Dean felt nothing but fury. His hand tightened around Crowley’s throat. He knew it wouldn't kill him, but it satisfied his anger enough. “And now I’m a knight of hell, huh?” His jaw tightened and he wore a grimacing smile.

He released Crowley, only to bring his fist back and throw it hard into his jaw. He felt empty of everything except anger and bitter frustration. His face contorted in rage. Crowley landed on the bathroom floor in a pathetic heap and Dean was on him again in a moment.

"I WAS OUT! It was supposed to be game over for me!" Another blow to Crowley's jaw.

"I didn't want this. I DIDN'T ASK FOR THIS!" His fists were streaked with blood from Crowley's broken nose and split lips. The bones of his face cracked sickeningly under the weight of Dean's expert hits. It made him feel alive.

He couldn't remember when Crowley lost consciousness; it was somewhere between punch number 5 and number 11. No matter how many times Dean’s fist collided with Crowley’s face, it never dulled his anger. In a second, Dean’s hand hit straight to the tiled floor; Crowley was gone. “Son of a BITCH!”

**Author's Note:**

> let me know how i did with Dean's transformation, please. i was pretty hesitant about posting this, i mean i have a whole plotline, but i don't feel like i write these characters that well. let me know ok? pls and thanks. also there will be destiel i promise.


End file.
